


A backdrop of blue

by isquinnabel



Category: Lost
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isquinnabel/pseuds/isquinnabel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of ten Jack/Juliet drabbles, spanning seasons 3 to 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A backdrop of blue

**Author's Note:**

> Each drabble is written from a prompt, and the prompts are the first ten words that this [Random Word Generator](http://watchout4snakes.com/creativitytools/RandomWord/RandomWordPlus.aspx) spat at me. Title from _Blue Lips_ by Regina Spektor, and a couple of dialogue lines are taken from canon. I own nothing. Spoilers all the way through to _The End_.

01\. Romance

She's the first one he sees, the first person to talk to him. (It's what Ben wants.)  
She brings him food and water. Grilled-cheese sandwiches. Soup. (It's what Ben wants.)  
She's sweet to him, patient and polite. (It's what Ben wants.)

It's a sick distortion of the idea of romance, and she's disgusted with herself for playing along. Everything about that man is wrong and she's had enough. She's out. She's getting out and she's taking Shephard with her.

She writes with a steady hand, that steeled sort of calm that accompanies a sense of purpose:  
 _IGNORE EVERYTHING I'M SAYING_.

 

 

02\. Fried

"Exceptionally greasy pizza."  
"Cheeseburgers and fries. Cold beer."  
She groans. "Okay, I'm proposing a new game. The opposite. Food you're glad you're not eating."  
"Sounds less fun."  
"Less fun than torture? Because that's what this is. Torture."  
"Alright," he grins. Knocks her foot with his. "Your turn."  
She stares thoughtfully into the distance.  
"Overcooked spaghetti."  
"Brussels sprouts."  
"Deep fried ice-cream."  
He pauses. "I'm sorry, what?"  
She shakes her head. "Great in theory, but not as amazing as you'd think. Most disappointing food I've ever had."  
He swallows a tough mouthful of boar meat. "Still. I don't think you're playing right."

 

 

03\. Misguided

She's bruised, bleeding and wrong. For the thousandth time, _wrong_. Wrong about Charlotte and Daniel, wrong about why they found The Tempest. Wrong to think she could ever be free of him.

"Ben's going to win, Jack. And when he does, you don't want to be anywhere near me."

Jack can't kiss away the chill of what just happened, the sinking horror of what she almost did.  
(But that doesn't stop it from feeling good. _Great_.)  
"He knows where to find me."

Her life is a relentless conga-line of mistakes, and _please, please don't let this be one of them_.

 

 

04\. Guided

His eyes are closed, but he's out of his chloroform-induced fog. He feels her fingers carefully guiding each stitch.  
"He kissed me once." And he hears every word.  
"But it wasn't for me, it was for him."

Later, when they're alone: "I know you're awake."  
He opens his eyes. She's busy with his sutures.

She was miserable that day, miserable and scared. She'd wanted him to kiss her. He'd _tried_ to want to, almost made himself believe he did.

She's right. It wasn't for her. He did it for himself.

"I'm sorry."  
Minutes pass before she answers.  
"It doesn't matter."

 

 

05\. Beer

The horizon erupts. It's over.

She grabs the nearest Dharma-issue bottle of whatever'll burn her throat and blur her vision, walks away, sinks to the ground. Gone. _Boom_ , gone. Boat, gone. People, gone. Home, gone.

Helicopter. Gone.

Yeah, she was mad at him. His persistent whatever-the-cost hero complex.  
But she just wanted to keep him alive.  
(All she ever wanted was to keep people alive.)

Another gulp, 'nother swallow. Makes her fuzzy. Stops things being real. _Rum plus Juliet equals Jack isn't dead_.

Sawyer fights his way out of the waves. She stares, vaguely wondering where he stashed his beer.

 

 

06\. Visitor

Orientation video. Job assignments.  
"Jack Shephard!"

He feels like he's crashing a bizarre costume party, one with guests that take the theme far too seriously. Every detail feels awkward and uncomfortable; even the air seems to say _hey man, what the hell are you doing here?_

He glances around the room, hoping for a glimpse of Hurley or Kate, when Juliet strides through the doorway. Clipboard in hand, flicking through papers. Calm and in control. She looks at home. Like Jin. Like Sawyer.

It's just so damn weird. But, honestly, it's also reassuring.

Mental note: remember to go say hi.

 

 

07\. Daily

Blow up the plane.  
Don't blow up the plane.  
Find Locke.

The plan keeps changing and he changes with it. Every cell in his body protests, every bit of him wants to pick a course of action and lead the charge. But he won't.

He's felt responsible for deaths before, but never like this. He can't share the blame with an aggressive tumor or a gunshot wound. Not this time. Every day, his first thought: _Juliet's dead. She's still dead, and it's still your fault._ Every single day, for the rest of his life.

Some things just can't be fixed.

 

****************************

 

08\. Desirable

Spring Break '89. He's been here for days, but it feels much longer.

She looks just as uncomfortable as he feels, hovering at the edge of the crowd. She's wary of him at first, but she warms up. They bond over their empty cups and a mutual hatred of the beach.

"Thanks."  
"For what?"  
"Getting my friends off my back." A rueful smile plays at her lips, her eyes. "They want me to loosen up. It's annoying."  
He laughs. "Anytime."

He gets her number. (By the end of the week, he's falling asleep with his fingers tangled in her hair.)

 

 

09\. Training

A yellow post-it lives in her purse, scrawled with lists of names. Boys on one side, girls on the other. Nothing beginning with _Sh_ (too alliterative).

Mercifully, they're both fully trained now. That stage of their lives is done, so this whole thing isn't impossible. Hard, sure. But possible. They'll both lighten their case loads. They'll deal with the exhaustion; juggling patients, a baby, each other. Life. 

She's not nineteen anymore. She's not naive enough to think they'll float along on a starry-eyed cloud of familial bliss.

But this can work. They can make this work.  
It _has_ to work.

 

 

10\. Town

When it's over, they go out.  
David's staying with his grandmother, a move planned in anticipation of tonight's conversation. So they grab the keys and leave, fast. 

(They don't know if this is normal soon-to-be-ex-couple behaviour.  
He suspects it's not; she thinks it could be. There's something oddly right about it.  
Either way, they both need a drink.)

It's too quiet downtown, this bar included. They each silently curse LA for being so unusually responsible tonight.

"You okay?"  
She swallows her last mouthful.  
"I've been better."

He's working tomorrow. She hasn't eaten since breakfast.  
They both order a second drink.

  


  


_End._  



End file.
